Two Steps Away From Home
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fairly AU. Harry's running away. Can the boy survive on his own, or will someone end up finding him? (Of course someone will. And of course that someone will be Harry's least favourite person.)
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: Have I mentioned I have a terrible habit of starting stories and taking forever to update all the ones I already have? Oops. Warning for child abuse and neglect in this. Also fairly AU._

The sun burnt the back of Harry Potter's neck as he lugged the torn cardboard box full of Dudley's old (and broken) toys to the car. Sweat ran into his eyes, his mouth felt like he'd bitten into a sock, and every time he moved his left arm, another painful twinge went through it. Still this was the last of his chores for the day, and he was more than slightly relieved as he thumped the lid of the boot down and Uncle Vernon hefted his ponderous bulk into the driver's seat.

"Be good while we're gone, boy," the man hissed through his mustache, eyes promising swift retribution if Harry dared step a toe out of line. "The door's still unlocked, so you can get out of sight before anyone sees you. Don't eat anything besides your meal, Petunia's already set it out for you. We'll _know._"

Harry nodded and mumbled a desultory "Yes, sir" that seemed to please his uncle, although his aunt gave a sniff. Dudley sneered unpleasantly through the back window, and then the Dursleys were off, donating Dudley's old toys to a charity a few streets down (it looked good for the neighbours, and Aunt Petunia was all about appearances), and then off to dinner and a movie.

Harry, on the other hand, he discovered as he let himself in through the kitchen door, was only allowed a piece of toast and half a cup of stale water. After working all day in the blazing sun. His shoulders slumped a bit as he ate the meagre repast as slowly as he could. His stomach felt hollow. He'd not gotten any food yesterday because he breathed wrong in Uncle Vernon's vicinity while he was angry. And it's not like the past month had been replete with proper meals either. Not to mention how all of his Hogwarts friends had apparently abandoned him.

Sensing how Uncle Vernon would feel about overt displays of freakishness, Harry had let Hedwig out while still on the train, telling her to go to the Burrow where Ron and his family lived. He'd explained, slightly red-faced, to Ron and Hermione that the Dursleys weren't fond of magic, and he didn't know if he'd be able to properly take care of her over the summer. They'd accepted it, but it unfortunately left Harry without a way to contact anyone should he need help.

Living with the Dursleys was exhausting, painful, and all of a sudden, Harry had had more than enough. Why should he stay here, in the midst of people who didn't want him, had never wanted him, regularly used him for slave labour, used him as a punching bag, and verbally assaulted him on every occasion they could? He'd thought it was normal before Hogwarts. But it _wasn't. _It couldn't be. Ron and Hermione treated him well enough. The Headmaster virtually doted on him. The only person who could even hold a candle to how he was treated at home was Snape and even _he_ didn't tend to throw Harry down a flight of stairs for missing a speck of dust on the mantel.

Mind made up, Harry marched over to the cupboard under the stairs and tugged on the padlock, managing to break the creaky old thing straight in half. Lucky that the trunk came with built-in shrinking charms, he thought as he pulled out his knapsack, invisibility cloak, and wand. Not that he could _use_ the blasted thing outside of school, but he still had felt painfully vulnerable without it in his pocket.

As he shrunk his trunk and placed it into a zippered side-pocket, he glanced inside the cupboard and saw the crayoned inscription, still at the top. "Harrys Room." _What a laugh,_ Harry thought sourly, hefting his pack up on the shoulder that hurt the least and closing the door. He fit the padlock back on as well as he could. By the time he was done, it didn't really _look_ broken, but one good heave would send it crumbling into pieces again. Good enough.

His next stop was the kitchen, where he raided the fridge and cupboards with glee. A packet of crisps there, a bag of cookies here. Several water bottles also went into the bottom of his knapsack, the ones that Aunt Petunia liked to keep around for Dudley's friends (not that they ever drank them). He grabbed as much as he thought he could comfortably fit and carry, padding it out with some of his old clothes and a few newer tee shirts he borrowed from Dudley's closet. Dudley's pants wouldn't fit him, but he changed into a new pair anyway, rolling up the legs and securing the waist with a heavy-duty belt. He had no intentions of ever returning, so Harry felt free to search through the house, almost looting it with a clear conscience.

Although even Harry's heart pounded with utter terror when he found the box up at the top of his uncle's and aunt's closet, with the emergency money. They didn't know he knew about it, and his throat tightened as he lifted up the lid. He'd always been told what a burden he was, that he had to earn his keep to be clothed and fed, but there were several thousand pounds staring up at him, and anger roared to life in his stomach.

Then he scooped up a hefty roll and shoved it into his pocket. They could stand the loss.

Now that Harry was properly attired (with even Dudley's old windbreaker tied around his waist for warmth), he stood there for a few minutes, not knowing what to do. Other than make all evidence of his rummages as inconspicuous as possible. They would _know_ of course, particularly when he wasn't there, but still, it was always best to keep them confused for as long as possible.

Headlights streaked across the living room wall and Harry went white. He hadn't realised how fast time had flown by, but the Dursleys were already home. Bolting through the kitchen and out the side door, he closed it as quietly as possible, peeking around the corner of the house to see his uncle's unmistakable bulk levering itself out of the car. The sound of their voices floated to him on the slight evening breeze, and Harry felt his arms prickle up with cold. There was no turning back now.

As silently as he could, he darted across the back lawn, pulled himself over the fence, and started out on his new life.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes: Thank you for the reviews! :) I hope you like the next chapter. I have casually taken many liberties with geography._

Harry didn't stop running until he reached the park. He bent over, hands perched on his knees, as his breath heaved and spots danced before his eyes. He fancied he could hear the shout of anger from his uncle even at this distance, although he knew it was a lie. His relatives would never let the neighbourhood know anything was wrong.

Still, he didn't relish the thought of them finding him anytime soon and it was a virtual guarantee if he stayed in the park literally down the road. Looking around, Harry spotted no one he recognised. Nevertheless, he skulked through the fringe of trees around the edges, trying to decide which way to go. That way led further into town, where it would be easier to lose himself among the people. There were more runaways than just his scrawny frame, and he could probably scrounge his way for the rest of the summer. On the other hand, the other way led toward freedom. The emptiness of the fields and clusters of scraggly forest called to Harry in a way he couldn't quite explain. It was as if his very magic thrummed in his bones at the thought of slipping into the woods. That way felt a lot more like camping than living on his own, too, and in the end, his feet inevitably turned that way.

Harry walked for what felt like ages as the sky darkened and stars burst out of the clouds, twinkling down on him. The houses grew sparser on each side and every time a car drove past, he ducked behind a hedge or a wheelie bin or once, nothing at all, just dropping flat on the pavement as yellow headlights splashed indifferently across his crumpled form. It was exhausting, but as Little Whinging dropped slowly behind him, he'd never felt more free.

Finally, he wandered deeper into the cluster of trees that beckoned him at the side of the road, found a welcoming bush, and wormed his way into it, taking care not to snag his pack on any of the slightly thorn-infused branches. Exhausted, he slept.

* * *

Back at 4 Privet Drive, Uncle Vernon was still blustering in utter fury at the fact the boy had managed to escape his grasp, Aunt Petunia was white-lipped with her own silent anger (and carefully concealed worry that the boy had been taken by those-monsters-who had murdered her sister), and Dudley was just tired. Tired of yelling, tired of his father's face burning down into his as the sweaty, red-faced man demanded once again to know if Dudley had any knowledge of the freak's escape. No. No, and again, no. Finally, Dudley was allowed to pad off to bed. They hadn't searched the house much, just discovered the broken padlock on the cupboard under the stairs and the missing food, but Dudley wasn't surprised to see some of his clothes missing as well when he snapped on the lights. He didn't care.

Truthfully, Dudley was kind of glad to see Harry go. He bullied his cousin, but more because his father seemed to demand it than any real hatred of the boy himself. Sure, Harry was scrawny and kind of bug-eyed and he had that freaky magic stuff, but he didn't seem _that_ bad. Not like Vernon acted when he pummeled him with his belt, or when Petunia aimed another soapy frying pan at his head. It made Dudley wonder sometimes, what would happen if he did something they didn't approve of? Would they round on him, too?

But in the end, such existential thoughts drifted off into the waves of sleep and Dudley curled up beneath his ratty blue blanket, the one Aunt Marge had given him five years ago and he refused to throw out or put in the charity bin, as the rise and fall of his parents' argument echoed from the next room. Morning would come soon enough.

* * *

In the depths of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a lonely gyroscope flashed bright green and red lights into the dusty confines of the cabinet Albus had absentmindedly placed it in. This particular gyroscope was dedicated to Harry Potter's safety within the warded confines of 4 Privet Drive. It couldn't decide whether or not Harry was actually protected and so it flashed conflicting colours, bright and glaring inside the cabinet.

Fawkes saw the gleams of light escape through the cracks and let out a worried trill. But his master was sound asleep, tucked into an exhausted heap for once, and the phoenix hadn't the heart to wake him. The alarm _did_ keep flashing green, after all. Surely it would be all right.

Although as the night progressed, Fawkes couldn't help but keep a sleepy eye on the glitter of light strobing through the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Harry awoke awash in a cold sweat. He had finally fallen asleep in the grey scrim of pre-dawn, and his sleep had been restless and broken, easily jostled by the slightest sound. Sleeping out in the woods sounded like a great adventure for an eleven-almost-twelve-year-old, but the reality was anything but.

Peering out through the lower screen of branches, Harry froze. He'd gone to ground fairly close to the road, since he had no desire to become utterly lost. He didn't want to vanish forever after all. Just until Hogwarts started up again. So he could see the lane stretching on into the early morning fog...and the police car parked not ten yards from where he lay.

_Bollocks,_ he swore fervently inside his head. None of the car doors had opened, but that didn't mean anything. With a sinking heart, Harry realised someone must have seen him last night. Not that he could move now-the cracking of branches would give him away in an instant. At least here he was relatively protected.

A crackle of static came from the half-opened window and he bit his bottom lip savagely as sweat trickled into his eyes. Snatches of conversation wafted to him on the light morning breeze. "No sign...Potter boy...uncle..."

That was more than enough for Harry. His stomach twisted in on itself as he watched the car. _Don't get out, don't get out,_ he mentally pleaded. The door clicked open and boots thumped down on the pavement.

"Ah, come on, no one's round for miles," he heard the other occupant of the car say disparagingly. "Really want to have a tramp in that?"

"Nah, you're right," and the legs withdrew, the door shutting with a soft clack. "He's eleven? Couldn't have run off this far. Must be ten miles."

A thrill sung through Harry's veins at the admission he'd unwittingly garnered. Ten bloody miles. No wonder he was so tired. Still, a smile cracked his lips as the car drove off. His first night, and he was still free from the Dursleys.

Although he had to wonder how long it would last.


End file.
